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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213964">Shatter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookleft/pseuds/lookleft'>lookleft</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, plate smashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookleft/pseuds/lookleft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I tell lies so that I can uncover the truth, Ouma-san.” And Kokichi whirls around and throws the plate somewhere behind him. Shuichi winces as he hears it break on the paving stones behind them.</p><p> </p><p>Shuichi is trying to de-stress after the fourth class trial, when Kokichi stumbles upon him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>271</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shatter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shuichi spends the elevator ride back up to the Academy glaring at the back of Kokichi’s head -- the light dances over every little violet-black strand -- even now, Shuichi can’t help but marvel at its thickness. His nails are digging red crescents into his hands and his jaw aches from how hard he’s been clenching it. Usually he stands by the door, all the better to make a hasty escape. But after this trial, something felt obscenely wrong about leaving his back open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before each trial, he’d stand in his regular spot and Kokichi would loom behind him. The other boy will blow gently on his neck, just so, to make Shuichi shiver and tense, to Kokichi’s delight. The first time Kokichi had done it, Shuichi had made the mistake of turning around to look at him, and even the simple mistake of reacting had caused a wide grin to split Kokichi’s face from ear to ear -- his teeth were just as white as his uniform, aligned and well cared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now though, Shuichi is free to observe as he pleases. Kokichi stands with his feet shoulder-width apart -- firm and assertive -- polished shoes, pristine uniform, scarf knotted at the back of his neck. In a blinding moment of scarlet, Shuichi imagines yanking either end of the checkered fabric. Yanking it until the shorter, smaller figure in his arms goes limp and cyanotic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi grabs at his pants legs to anchor himself in place. He is not going to act on these thoughts, he could never. Kaede would never forgive him, he couldn’t forgive himself. Even if it was Kokichi. A part of him wonders if any of it was even true, if Kokichi even is the mastermind, but Shuichi knows the best out of all of them that he can only work with the facts he’s given. And these are the facts that make him want to feel a nose crunching underneath his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator grinds to a halt at the top of the shaft, and Kokichi flits out, his footsteps almost silent on the Shrine’s marble floor. After the trials are over, it seems to be tradition now that everyone tries to take paths equidistant from each other. This is not a time for talking and closeness. Maki’s long strides take her directly towards the stairs that lead up towards the Academy, leaving everyone else to contrive a more circuitous route.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits in the elevator for several moments, just watching how the silhouettes of his friends come together and overlap in the sinking afternoon sun. So few of them now -- but then again, Shuichi has that thought after every trial. After looking at where everyone else seems to be headed, he drifts towards the small courtyard outside of Miu and Kiibo’s labs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Miu</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shuichi has never put much faith in an afterlife, the fevered impermanence of life is part of what makes it important after all. But after hearing the way that Alter Ego Gonta spoke -- he can’t help but wonder if she’s in a better place after all. He freezes just outside of her lab and tips his face towards the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He punches the wall just next to the door and muffles his scream at the unexpected magnitude of the pain. Shuichi’s no stranger to pain, Tenko’s flipped him once or twice. Shuichi can’t let himself get caught up -- tangled in that which he cannot know or that cannot be relayed to him. He raises the back of his hand to his eye level, the skin on his knuckles is torn and broken. Not good. It’s easy to not think about Miu or Gonta now, he can just zero in on the ache rippling out from his hand. Not good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi runs the thumb of his other hand over the welt on the knuckle of his pointer finger. This is not a habit he should form. There’s got to be a better way to channel this. Ideas tumble through Shuichi’s head like a pachinko machine. He thinks he can figure something out. He heads back up towards the school building. Most of the others will be in the dorms, Kaito may even be feeling up to some food in the dining hall. Shuichi finally starts heading back up towards the main building -- why is everything in this school spaced apart so bizarrely? Every step feels like he’s hauling his feet through concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drops of blood well up from his wounds and dripdripdrip down his fingers. He wants to wipe the blood off on his pant legs but right now it’s posing too good a distraction to waste. He can feel little droplets moving agonisingly slowly, like ignoring an itch until he can feel it bubble and fester under his skin. He can’t stop his fingers from wiggling just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swears that he has the same thought about the school every day: why is the architecture and interior design here so bizarre? Shuichi pauses on the landing between the first and the second floor. Maybe these pink stairs will haunt him for the rest of his life. He snorts and then keeps going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a trial, the labs of the people concerned are, for the most part, abandoned. Shuichi hasn’t touched Kaede’s lab since Kaito told him to go investigate it. He hasn’t been back. They hadn’t even seen Rantaro’s lab. But Shuichi is headed towards the only lab that people do actually filter through every so often. The Ultimate Maid’s lab. Even now, Shuichi still has a lot of feelings about that second trial, ossifying somewhere in the back of his mind, into something leaden and sad. Kirumi’s Victorian parlor is the only place in the school that Shuichi can do laundry in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi knows that he’s a stress cleaner. Long cases working for his uncle have taught him that. When all these little truths rattle around his skull, he vacuums until he can’t hear them anymore, or he polishes brass until the solution stares back at him. The Academy, by some strange means, is always clean. The parts of it that nature isn’t in the process of reclaiming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t returned to Kirumi’s lab in a while - the doll family that sits unmoving at the table freaks him out. He knows they can’t move, they don’t have legs after all, but they turn to regard him as he enters. The doll family is deeply, deeply unpleasant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are cabinets along one of the lime walls containing all manner of glass and chinaware. He had once been unfortunately present while Kirumi was working, and Tsumigi had asked her what the protocol for using certain styles and materials of dinnerware. It was almost like Kirumi had started speaking another language -- Shuichi had tried to grasp morsels of her explanation, but his brain had slid off of her words like a car on the ice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens a cupboard door close to the lab’s entrance and retrieves about half a stack of simple looking china plates. Plain white patina with designs of doves around the rim. They clink as Shuchi hefts them into his arms, and he has to lean back as he carries them so that his centre of gravity doesn’t make him fall over. Getting back down the stairs is far more difficult than he initially anticipated, which is perhaps a testament to what a bad idea this is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t encounter anyone on his journey downstairs and back into the school’s front foyer. Lucky, really. He has no reason to have these plates, and people tend to get antsy about someone doing anything that seems suspicious. The china plates scrape and rake against each other and the sound makes Shuichi clench his jaw. He walks the stack all the way around to the back of the dormitory building and deposits the plates softly on a patch of lawn beside the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi picks up the topmost plate on the pile, spinning it around in his hands. He’s never noticed how heavy plates are normally. He throws the plate up into the air, maybe an inch or two, and catches it. He adjusts his posture, standing side on to the building, and pretending to throw a plate at the wall. He holds the plate in one hand like a frisbee and extends his arm out, to feel how the weight changes and shifts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi thinks about what the hell he’s doing and drops a plate straight on to the pathway. It hangs in the air for just a moment, and then a loud crash as it shatters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remarkably unsatisfying. Isn’t this supposed to be satisfying in some kind of deep seated way? Impulsively, Shuichi picks up another plate and just hurls it as far as he can down the path. It hits the walkway at a steep angle and sends shrapnel flying in a wide circle around the point of impact. A shard of china slides and bounces off of Shuichi’s shoe and he looks down at it. Much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bends down and picks up the triangle of garbage he’s created. He’s going to need to clean this up later. Doing things like this is why he shouldn’t be called the Ultimate Detective. Who seriously breaks plates just for the sake of it? This is probably just something in Western media, that no one, not even Americans, do seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A high, impish laugh startles him out of his trance, He tries to stand up and turn around all at once and end up just throwing himself on his back a few meters from Kokichi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nishishi,” Kokichi chuckles, taking another step towards Shuichi. “You know, Saihara-chan… for someone who said that he would face the truth… you do an awful lot of lying.” He smiles with a sickening grin that bisects his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues, taking a step towards Shuichi on the ground. He stands on his tiptoes so as to loom over the boy on the ground just a fraction more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouma-san.” Shuichi greets him, still panting with shock. “I didn’t hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s just obvious.” Kokichi leans sideways and takes in the eight dishes still stacked in a neat column. Kokichi begins to stride forward, still grinning eerily, and Shuichi awkwardly shuffles backwards. The other boy stops just in front of the plates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are these for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before Shuichi can answer the question, the other boy dashes over and kicks into the centre of the stack. The two plates on top sort of slide over the side of his foot and land safely in the grass. The two under that take most of the force and they skid around over the grass. One of them ends up getting caught in the narrow track between grass and paving and the plate rolls merrily along. The last one hits the path square on, but miraculously doesn’t break. Kokichi is distracted from the rolling plate to look at this last plate. He picks it up and Shuichi can see the dramatic crack that runs about three quarters of the way down it. Shuichi is finally able to stagger to his feet. What had Kokichi been saying about lies?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tell lies so that I can uncover the truth, Ouma-san.” And Kokichi whirls around and throws the plate somewhere behind him. Shuichi winces as he hears it break on the paving stones behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi hums and rests his pointer finger across his lips thoughtfully. Shuichi’s eyes can’t help but follow the movement, and they flow easily over the other boy’s soft cupid’s bow. His gaze flickers back up to meet brilliant lavender. There has always been something electric about the way Kokichi looks at him -- about the way that Shuichi can feel himself being challenged with a smile and how everything inside of him rushes up to meet that unspoken expectation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so, Saihara-chan? There’s something wrong with your head if you think you can win my killing game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi exhales gently and gets to his feet, brushing little flakes of dirt off of his pants. After what happened in the trial, he’s not sure that he wants to talk to Kokichi -- or perform the mental gymnastics that talking to him requires. He has no idea whether Kokichi is actually the mastermind or not, and a part of him senses -- knows -- that he can’t afford to consider that question properly. Most everything that Shuichi does is poised, considered. As a detective, he knows all too well that there’s no such things as a coincidence. He’s planning on being restrained: telling Kokichi ‘goodbye’ and bundling himself up in his room until he stops sobbing and he can’t feel the passage of time. What he ends up saying, though, is something completely different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>is wrong with you, Ouma?” he spits out, lips coiling around the words. And as he meets Kokichi’s gaze, it runs darker and colder than Shuichi has ever seen it. The boy smirks --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even before he’s opened his mouth to respond, Shuichi is turning away. Shuichi realises in a moment of extraordinary clarity that, actually, he doesn’t have to tolerate this if he doesn’t want to. So he’s not going to. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to stay here and scream about the way Kokichi’s treated Gonta, and what the hell he means when he says he’s the mastermind, and every little irritating thing about him that frustrates Shuichi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s mid-step when a delicate hand catches him just above his elbow and yanks him back around. Everything is a whirling blur of colour for just a fraction of a moment and then he’s standing inside of Kokichi’s personal space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Shuichi, you of all people should know that I’m just playing this game.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi’s a bit taller than him, so he’s caught maybe ten centimeters away, with his nose just brushing one or two stray hairs arcing from the top of Kokichi’s head. His skin is porcelain, and he almost seems to glow ethereally in the late sun. His expression is even and smooth, no lines that betray his predilection for laughter. Shuichi can’t help but wonder what he would say to anyone that found them like this. The rosette of hair towards the back of Kokichi’s scalp seems to draw him in like a hypnotist’s spiral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth is open just a little, he’s breathing slightly heavier from the exertion of yanking on Shuichi’s. This close, Shuichi can look down and see the wetness of Kokich’s lips, where his tongue rests against his teeth. He’s never been close enough to him to really see how long his eyelashes are, and the delicate way they frame his eyes. The hand around his arm is warm and he has a tingling awareness of frantic little brushes of Kokichi’s breath against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi frowns. “I don’t understand you, Ouma-kun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a split-second, Kokichi’s face contorts into an expression of unbridled fury; but washes it away in the next, so quickly that Shuichi can’t be positive that he actually saw anything. Kokichi’s hands fly up to rest on Shuichi’s collar -- he is shunted backwards until he crashes into the wall and the crack of his skull impacting the brickwork rings in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers have tangled themselves up in the scarf somehow, and he drags Kokichi backwards with him. He slides down the side of the dorm as he lands and Kokichi is so, so close. Close enough for him to feel the other boy’s clothing catch on his. His legs are bent slightly and Kokichi has ended up standing over his right knee. He’s hoping, praying, that luck is on his side just this once and nobody comes around the corner to spot them like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He screws his eyes up and rubs the back of his head to soothe the ache that’s budding there. Kokichi’s hands are still pressed up against him, and when they slide up towards his shoulders, he opens his eyes. Their noses are a hair’s width apart. Every breath between them is shared. His eyes dart rapidly over Kokichi’s face, wanting to take everything in all at once, but Kokichi never meets his gaze. Kokichi is staring just downwards, at Shuichi’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As an experiment, Shuichi opens his mouth so that he can swipe his tongue over his bottom lip and he can see Kokichi track the movement. A flood of words bubble up in his throat, all threatening to explode out at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kokichi, look at me,” the words crumble out of Shuichi’s mouth. He can see every little ridge in those lilac irises as they flicker up to meet his eyeline. The checkered material in his hands feels like wool, and Kokichi’s minute gasp rattles around his brain like someone’s tapped a tuning fork to his skull. He tugs on Kokichi’s scarf, exactly as roughly as he needs to in order to bring their noses to rest against each other and to be able to feel the ghost of their first kiss tingling along their mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first brush of their lips together is perilously soft. He bobs back and kisses Kokichi again, properly this time, so that he can feel the other’s mouth bloom against his. He can taste the syrup-sweet mouth on his and feel and feel the tense and flex of the fingers on his collarbone. He tilts his head and they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi already knows he’ll regret this, how could he not? Kokichi is a liar, and more than that he is darkly malicious and he relishes in the misery of the class trials. Kokichi is deplorable in every way, and he can’t stop himself from lifting his hands up to Kokichi’s shoulders and wheeling him around until Kokichi is the one forced up against the wall and he can use his height to push their bodies together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snakes one hand around a slim waist and knots his other hand in entrancingly thick hair. He feels like his mind’s melting, no thoughts and too many all at once. Kokichi closes his teeth around his bottom lip, and he hums and his grasp on Kokichi’s hair tightens. The shorter boy moans into Shuichi’s mouth. He’s pressing down into Kokichi, but he feels so helpless when Kokichi pulls away to latch his mouth onto the sensitive skin under his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath hitches in his throat and he shoves his thigh in between Kokichi’s legs. Kokichi tenses up beneath him and sucks harder on his neck. He whimpers and it feels like he’s melting in Kokichi’s arms. There’s an arm curling itself around his waist, so tight, and he’s so warm everywhere the two of them are touching. There are teeth on his neck, he is being peppered with sharp little bites and he automatically tenses his grip on Kokichi with each one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs on Kokichi’s hair again and lines up their mouths once again. He’s not normally a fan of sickly sweet soda like the ones that Kokichi likes, but when he can breathe it in from Kokichi’s bite-swollen lips, Shuichi may never have this -- this need sated. He tugs the scarf out of his way and begins to drop little kisses like snowflakes over Kokichi’s neck, starting at a pale shoulder circling up to an aristocratic jaw and then down again. He pauses occasionally to suck sharply and swirl his tongue around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of Kokichi’s hands weaves through his hair and pulls Shuichi’s head in closer. In return, he tightens the arm he has around the boy’s waist and pushes his knee up into Kokichi’s groin. And Kokichi moans, and he can feel his brain begin to shut down. He’s never wanted anyone like this, has never felt this kind of hazy lust that makes his vision fisheye and block out everything except the boy in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arousal boils and churns low in his stomach and he rolls his hips against Kokichi’s, and he can’t stop a quiet whimper escaping him when Kokichi grinds down against his leg. Kokichi taps a finger to Shuichi’s chin, and tilts his face up until their eyes connect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Shuichi-chan! Are you planning on defiling my pure, virgin body?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi comes to several revelations almost instantly. He doesn’t believe that Kokichi is a virgin, there’s something in the specific way he shivers that contains notes of experience. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed, and he knows that he really, really likes that. One thing that he’s learned in class trials is that sometimes you are presented with new information, and the only thing that you can do is work with it. He has some information to work with here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi’s specific brand of flirting is evidently not completely ironic, given that he’s let Shuichi kiss him senseless. More than that, he definitely likes every little noise that Kokichi has made so far and he’s very interested in hearing every single one. He grips Kokichi’s hair just shy of hurting him and attacks his mouth. The hand under his chin presses itself to his neck and he feels raw and transparent and like he might vibrate out of his skin. It feels less like a kiss and more like an argument, and Kokichi presses up into him equally furiously. He kisses his way across Kokichi’s cheek until his lips are lightly brushing Kokichi’s tragus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I’m actually going to… defile your pure, virgin body, I’d rather not do it out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi pecks him brightly on the nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your room will do,” he responds, and he curls long fingers around Shuichi’s wrist and drags him along. Maybe one of these days, he’ll stop letting people manhandle him; but then, events like this might keep happening. The ache in his dick is persistent and he glances down but thankfully his erection isn’t overly visible yet. The two of them dart around the corner of the building and through the large glass doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one is around. Thankfully, Shuichi’s room is one of the closest to the front doors and he’s able to unlock his door smoothly, and Kokichi almost shoves him through and then slams the door behind both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi pounces on him. There are teeth on his lips, and hands on his waist, and Kokichi’s hair smells like flowers. He’s not good at describing scents but Kokichi’s hands fly up to grab his collar and pull him down. With lips and teeth and tongue making him whine and shake like this, he thinks these could be the best flowers he’s ever smelled. He puts his hands on Kokichi’s shoulders and positions him so that they can look at each other for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we actually--” Shuichi stutters when Kokichi raises an eyebrow. “What are we doing, Kokichi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, have you not figured it out yet, Shuichi? Geeeez…” he rolls the words around on his tongue. “A great detective like you ought to have figured it out by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets his head drop back against the door. It figures that Kokichi couldn’t even give him a straight answer now, not here when it matters so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do I bother?” He whispers to himself. Kokichi undoes the top button of Shuichi’s jacket. He’s wearing a simple white shirt underneath, and Kokichi rubs the soft fabric between his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you like playing games on nightmare mode,” responds Kokichi, undoing the next one. “Just.” Another button. “Like… me.” Two more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi crosses his arms over his chest, stopping Kokichi from undressing him further. For a second he just looks. The rumples in Kokichi’s white uniform, the sheen on his neck where he’s kissed it and the little spots of colour that have bloomed after his attention there, tufts of Kokichi’s hair that are poking sideways because of where he’s pulled at it. How Kokichi’s lips are fuller because they’ve been kissing so hard. Shuichi doesn’t know what’s meant to be happening. He doesn’t hate Kokichi, he only wants to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pay attention, Shuichi.” Kokichi drags him out of his brain. “You may never hear me say this again, but I’m going to tell you the truth. You can do whatever you want to me.” He looks at Shuichi plainly. Shuichi’s heart pounds in his ears. There is no gleam of mischief in his eyes, no ghost of trickery playing over his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He surges forwards. He holds Kokichi’s face in his hands and locks their mouths together, no finesse or strategy, just the raw need to be closer overwhelming him. He reaches his arms around Kokichi’s ribs so that he can untie this wretched scarf that he’s frankly sick of having to move. He throws it in a random corner, and sucks a spot on Kokichi’s neck that he knows will bruise before tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi’s whine is adorable and high-pitched and Shuichi purposefully gives him another hickey. He bites gently and there’s suddenly a hand carding through his hair. It feels like every part of Kokichi should taste sweet and artificially fruity, but his skin tastes mostly like nothing, with the barest hint of salt. Kokichi’s hands fumble between them, not as good at undoing Shuichi’s buttons when he can’t make pointed gestures with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I can just pull all of these off right?” Kokichi asks, pulling on a button for emphasis. He doesn’t stop carefully undoing them. He reaches across and starts easily unplucking the slides that hold Kokichi’s jacket together. They finish at almost the same time and snap back together while they shove each others’ jackets off. Kokichi is wearing a thin, purple T-shirt that feels like it’s worn with age, even though that shouldn’t be possible. He’s still wearing his normal button-down and even while Kokichi’s lips are still on his, he can feel fingers fiddling with his shirt cuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi stops kissing him for a second to get a better look at this new puzzle that’s occupying his attention, and Shuichi uses the break to softly run his teeth over the shell of Kokichi’s ear. He trails his fingers down Kokichi’s spine slowly, pausing at the small of his back. When he’s met with no reaction, he reaches down further and grabs a handful of Kokichi’s ass and kneads the soft flesh in his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi squeaks. Kokichi squeaks and Shuichi thinks it’s the cutest noise he’s ever heard. He wrenches his wrist out of Kokichi’s grasp and undoes the buttons on both sleeves himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your shirt off,” he instructs, and he starts undoing his own. Maybe if things were different Shuichi would take his time, the way that he’s meant to with things like this. But right now, he feels like a bottle of champagne with its cork close to exploding out -- in his pants his cock is throbbing and the waves of pressure roll through him like a bruise being pushed upon. Kokichi grabs the back of his T-shirt and yanks it over his head in one fluid motion that seems to Shuichi like some kind of practiced manoeuvre to draw him in. He has a panther’s grace to him. Kokichi’s skin is almost translucent under the washed out lights, and his hair looks shiny and thick and begs for him to run his fingers through it. Kokichi reaches out and slides his fingertips under the hem of Shuichi’s pants, so that he can pull Shuichi back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi steps forward and Kokichi uses a momentary diversion of his focus to dance around him and push him over onto the bed. He flops and then suddenly his lap is full of Kokichi. The boy is shockingly hairless, like a porcelain doll, except for the trail of hair that leads from his navel to beneath the top of his pressed uniform pants. The two of them are still for a second, just looking at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi grinds down on him aggressively, and Shuichi’s hands grip his things so that they can rut against each other with as much friction as possible. His hands trail over the dark belt in Kokichi’s belt loops and meet at the buckle that holds both ends together. Kockich gyrates on him and Shuichi pulls his belt through the loops, and as soon as he throws it to the floor, their lips are meeting again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This kiss isn’t graceful, it’s slippery and their mouths bash together and it’s still perfect because Shuichi can feel how much Kokichi wants him. Kokichi reaches between them and lays the length of his palm on Shuichi’s cock, and Shuichi can’t help but twitch his hips up at the contact. No one’s ever touched him (not that Kokichi is even really touching him) like this, and even now, he feels perilously close to reaching his orgasm. He digs the heel of his palm on Kokichi’s bulge, and he shoves both of his hands down to where Shuichi is holding him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but whimper at the loss of pressure on his dick, but being able to feel Kokichi hard in his hand is exhilarating. He slides the hand on Kokichi’s thigh up, and over his bare skin. His hand on Kokichi’s dick presses down slightly, and even though there are layers in the way, he can feel how rigid Kokichi is. He bites down on the lip in his mouth and Kokichi squeals and pulls away. There are hands on his shoulders again, and then he’s falling back down onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a mouth on his neck and he arches up so he can feel Kokichi’s bare skin on his. The smell of flowers invades his nose again. He throws his arms around Kokichi’s back haphazardly, every part of his body urges him to get closer, to somehow break down the barrier of his skin so he can just melt into Kokichi. It feels like Kokichi is spitefully sucking hickeys into him, taking his pound of flesh for each mark that Shuichi had dared to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each kiss feels like a white-hot pinprick on his skin, and when he thrusts up into Kokichi, he can feel a smile bloom against his skin. Kokichi’s lips drift across his chest and he sighs when a thumb brushes one of his nipples. He’s tried this when he’s touched himself in the past, but it’s so much different now that it’s someone else digging the edges of their fingernails into his areolas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Kokichi is kissing his nipple, and twirling light circles over the other one. He can’t describe the noises he’s making anymore, isn’t even trying to hide them. He whines when Kokichi bites at him again, and he rubs his hips on what must be Kokichi’s stomach. He twists his fingers in Kokichi’s hair. There’s always so much excitement when the two of them are screaming at each other during the class trials, like the two of them can see clearly as they can’t anywhere else. It’s like a dance, almost, but it’s one he never had to learn because as long as Kokichi was there, Shuichi has just known exactly how to go perfectly toe to toe with him. He drags his hand over the taut skin on Kokichi’s shoulder blade, and the beautiful body on top of him arches into his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“K-Kokichi…” he sighs, and threads his hands through silky black locks. Kokichi smirks and looks up at him, eyes dark and blown out. The button securing Shuichi’s pants together comes undone -- he hadn’t even felt Kokichi’s hands down there. But there’s gentle pressure on his cock as Kokichi draws the zip down, and his hips twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi sits up properly and holds Kokichi’s face in his hands and brings their lips together. He puts his hands on Kokichi’s hips and draws the boy onto his lap. He feels composed of nothing but exposed nerve. He feels raw and vulnerable, shirtless and with his dick bulging out from his fly and Kokichi lined up with him and dominating his senses. It’s enough to drown in. They kiss and they’re getting better at talking silently every time their teeth clatter together or one of their tongues accidentally slides out of the seal of their mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses down hard on Kokichi’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thrust. “Shuichi-chan,” he breathes. Kokichi’s fingers circle at the place where his underwear meets his stomach, and then they dip down and under.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when Shuichi dies. His brain shuts off. There are fingers, not his, around his cock. Warm and deft, sliding against him just a tiny bit because Kokichi’s at an odd angle. Shuichi’s mouth drops open and he whines and moans; when Kokichi speeds up, gleeful and energised by his reaction, Shuichi has to grab his wrist and make him stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, not like this,” he gasps. He can’t breathe, but strangely, in a good way. His heart is simultaneously in his dick and in his throat. He renews his grip on Kokichi’s cock. Feeling the shape of it through pressed white fabric. He lets go of Kokichi’s hand, and it is obediently withdrawn and loosely draped over his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi doesn’t know what a big dick looks or feels like. But he squeezes Kokichi and feels a soft rigidness, and another wave of arousal pulses through him. Kokichi’s trunks are scarlet and canary striped and Shuichi thinks they’re awful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take these off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi looks askance at him. “I can’t believe my dear Shuichi-chan, would be so rude to meeeee!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Please take them off.” Right now, Shuichi couldn’t have less pride, if it’ll mean he gets to see Kokichi naked. Kokichi, on his part, jumps up and kicks off his shoes and socks. Shuichi should probably do the same. Kokichi seamlessly shimmies out of his pants and underwear and then raises his arms up, as if to say: what do you think?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi still can’t think though. He slides off the bed onto his knees and crawls towards Kokichi. He’s keeping eye contact as he closes the space, and Kokichi’s fingers dig into his scalp when he finally comes to a stop. His knees are up against Kokichi’s toes, and there’s a pale cock right in front of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, Kokichi’s eyes are smooth obsidian. He closes his fist around Kokichi’s dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” It is only a whisper, he can barely hear it over the sounds of him moving his arm up and down. The tip of Kokichi’s cock is wet, and when he rubs his thumb over the sensitive head, Kokichi moans and twitches into his touch. He strokes his hand down, pulling Kokichi’s foreskin back with it. Shuichi has never, ever felt like this. He wants to touch himself, but he feels like if he does, he might come embarrassingly early and then Kokichi won’t want anything to do with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is something in his brain begging him to use his mouth on Kokichi. He bites his lip, and peers up at Kokichi through his eyelashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi is speechless. Shuichi will savour this afternoon for a variety of reasons, but that one might just be the sweetest. He tightens his fingers around the base of Kokichi’s dick and rests his lips a couple of centimeters away from the pinkish skin. He looks up again, Kokichi is nodding furiously so Shuichi takes the plunge and licks a stripe up from his fist to the head of Kokichi’s dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shuichi.” Kokichi says his name so simply. Shuichi looks up, the head of Kokichi’s cock still in his mouth and he swirls his tongue around in circles. There is thickness and hardness in his mouth and Shuichi just wants to close his eyes and keep going. Get lost in a rhythmic pattern of bobbing and licking and sucking. Kokichi’s hands alight on his head, and for a second, Shuichi is scared that he’s going to get choked. But Kokichi’s fingers are too light for that, he can’t even really feel their weight. They dust lightly over his hair, like Kokichi can’t figure out where to put them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi has never sucked someone off before, has never been naked with anyone else before (he still isn’t, but he wagers he probably will be before the evening is over). He takes as much of Kokichi in as he can, which is not much, and strokes the rest of his length. The sounds he makes are kind of gross, he’s not too far gone to admit that. Slurping and sucking noises when he pulls off and changes his angle or when he switches between sucking and pressing desperate open-mouthed kisses all over Kokichi’s upper thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tongue traces over every ridge, he licks at the hole and Kokichi just keens and digs his fingers into Shuichi’s scalp. Above him, Kokichi’s breathing is heavy and potent, tearing itself out of him. He reaches down into his own boxers and starts loosely stroking himself. His jaw hurts a little but it’s so worth it to have this much power over Kokichi. He gets a little braver, tries going a little deeper. He can’t hold all of it in his mouth for very long, he keeps gagging, and his eyes begin to water ever so slightly. But Kokichi crying out when his throat flexes around that sensitive head makes his cock twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds Kokichi’s hips in his hands and bobs his whole head up and down rhythmically, shifting his weight between his feet and his knees like a pendulum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi makes some kind of muffled cry, and Shuichi pulls off of him to make sure he hasn’t done anything wrong. Kokichi is staring at him with wide, glassy eyes and his hair is sticking to the sides of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi has his eyes screwed shut before he’s aware of what’s happening. Something wet splashes onto his face, mostly across his nose, but there’s some dripping over his cheeks and lips. He made Kokichi come. He hasn’t opened his mouth but he can taste the salty bitterness of the semen covering him. He tentatively tries to open his eyes, and finds that he can, without too much trouble. Kokichi sways above him and reaches out weakly to smush his thumb across Shuichi’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gorgeous.” It’s barely more than a whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his hand, Shuichi’s own dick is throbbing and he needs something, anything. Kokichi’s eyes flick between his face and his cock, and then Kokichi kneels so they’re at the same level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi maintains eye contact as he slides his hand around Shuichi’s dick properly for the first time. This is so much different, so much more powerful than frantic nights by himself outside the Academy. Here with Kokichi’s hands on him, he feels like he might cry or fall apart at any second. Another of Kokichi’s hands dip down further - oh - and there are fingers on his balls and then further --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi brushes his fingers against Shuichi’s taint. His climax shoots through him immediately; a spear of intense, electric pleasure sparking through him. He watches his jizz splatter onto the floor between Kokichi’s feet -- less velocity than he might’ve expected -- his face is wet and salty and cold. A wave of exhaustion rolls through him, and he thinks Kokichi is shuffling around but  tiredness has hit him like a freight train. He closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a warm towelly thing dabbing at his face and he reaches up to take the cloth from Kokichi so that he can rub his own face clean. It feels singularly satisfying to not have semen dripping off his face anymore. He’s not absolutely certain where the flannel came from, but he suspects that it’s the hand towel from his bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s soothing his face with warm water when the door to his room slams abruptly. He whips the towel away from his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kokichi is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi sits on the floor of his room, shirtless, and with semen congealing into the carpet. He is alone. Goosebumps race over his skin as he cleans up. He looks around the room. It felt like he’d rested for only a moment, but there’s nothing left to suggest that Kokichi was ever here. None of his clothes are where they should be. There’s only the shifts in the bedsheets and the dirty flannel to prove that anything happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And something definitely did happen. Between them. Kokichi has probably skulked off to his room if he’s not here. Not a good idea to follow him there. Shuichi gets up off the floor, wincing as his knees complain. He’s been sitting on his ankles, even though he knows that’s terrible for them. He hurls the towel into his sink, promising himself that he’ll clean it tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his own bed, Shuichi collapses in on himself and doesn’t dream at all.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day in the dining hall, the two of them sit morosely on separate sides of the room. Maki is sitting next to Shuichi and the two of them are enjoying the compassionate silence. Kokichi sits alone. Shuichi so desperately wants to grab Kokichi’s shoulders and ask him what yesterday meant. If it was important. There’s a certain ‘realness’ to whatever nebulous connection they have now, that wasn’t there before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuichi grips his fork tightly. Anything to root him here, so he doesn’t walk over to Kokichi to make an embarrassing spectacle of himself. His and Kokicki’s eyes glance off each other when they both turn to look at someone come in. It’s Himiko.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey does anyone know why there’s a pile of plates and broken china behind the dorms?”</span>
</p>
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